Living
by Westel
Summary: What do we live for? What's real, and vital to us? Sometimes it takes a trip into the surreal to show us what is truly precious. Rated T for graphic scenes.
1. Chapter 1

Living  
by Westel

"Hold him, Johnny!" yelled the blond paramedic as he attempted to insert an IV into the thrashing patient.

"What do you think I'm _trying_ to do, Roy!?" grunted Johnny Gage as he grappled with the teenager, who was freaking out on one of the hot, new psychedelic drugs so prevalent now. Gage was no stranger to manhandling victims who were out of their heads with pain or delirium, but this kid's strength was stoked by his own mind-generated adrenaline, and the wiry paramedic was getting the worst of it in their struggle.

Roy jerked back suddenly, holding the IV needle aloft, as the flailing hippie abruptly vomited all over himself and everything else in close proximity. He swore softly, darting a fleeting look at Gage, who was using his body to hold the young man down. The youth quieted some, and Roy managed to insert the IV and stabilize the arm. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Vince jogging toward them, the throbbing music of the concert behind them carrying the police officer along like a body surfer.

"Need a hand?" the officer asked, taking in the scene in a moment.

"Can you get the backboard? I need to immobilize this guy."

"Sure," the officer replied and turned away, grateful for a chance to smile without the two paramedics seeing it. What a mess the firefighters had on their hands that night! Early morning rains had left the baseball field a quagmire, and now tonight with 15,000 rock fans swarming the place, the quagmire had turned into a swamp. Several paramedic units and ambulance crews had been kept hopping most of the evening with minor accidents, faintings, and now this. Vince was seeing more and more incidences of drug overdoses in his work, and they were never pretty.

As the two paramedics strapped the semi-conscious youth onto the backboard, the sound of an ambulance siren could be heard approaching. Soon the white vehicle rolled into the compound and an attendant opened the doors.

"Rampart, this is Squad 51."

"Go ahead, 51," came the reply, the voice Joe Early's.

"The patient is restrained but quiet, Rampart," Roy reported. "Blood pressure is 130/90, respirations 22. Ambulance is on-scene."

"10-4, 51. Continue to monitor vitals during transport."

"10-4, Rampart."

Roy disconnected the antenna from the biophone and closed it up, checking to make sure he wasn't leaving anything behind.

"Roy?"

DeSoto glanced at Johnny, who stood looking more like an inhabitant of a pig sty than a human being at the moment, mud and vomit coating his thighs, the front of his shirt, and his right arm. Somehow he fought off the urge to grin, knowing the humor of the situation would be lost on his partner.

"Uh, right. I'll ride with the victim, Johnny."

"Thanks."

DeSoto allowed a grin to grow as he climbed into the ambulance. He'd been spattered and mud-smeared, too, but – true to Johnny's proclivities – Johnny was the nastier of the two. Gage would get a chance to clean himself off a bit before taking the squad to Rampart, at least. Roy checked the IV on the patient and took another blood pressure reading. Most of whatever the kid had been tripping on must have been thrown up a few minutes ago, because the young man's vitals continued to improve, and he was resting quietly. _Kids!_ He shook his head, frowning, and thought of his own two children. What would his world be like when they reached their mid-teens and no longer thought the old man was the greatest thing going? He sighed, and reminded himself that it was no use worrying about it right now. He tried to think of more pleasant things, like the A-shift picnic, which was coming up in a couple of weeks. Based on past experience, it should be a fun, relaxing way to spend the day with his family. The key to his children's future was to spend as much time as he could with them, and _that_ he knew how to do.

ooOOoo

Johnny stood at the nurse's station, talking to Dix and waving an empty coffee cup. He was dressed in scrubs, his soiled uniform tied in a soggy bundle at this feet. His expression was serious.

"Hey, Roy," he grunted, saluting his buddy with the cup. Gage didn't look too badly now that he had doffed the cruddy clothes but, judging by the scowl on his face, his sense of humor had temporarily disappeared. Admittedly, it had been a long day for them both. Judging by Dix's expression, it had been a rough one for her, too. Whether it was because of all the patients they had brought in that day, or because of Johnny's latest tirade against the burgeoning drug culture among the youth, was up for grabs.

"What's he been telling you this time, Dix?" Roy asked, taking the hazardous cup out of Gage's hand and placing it on the counter.

"I've been tellin' her about our last run, Roy. It's just these kids today. . ."

"Nurse McCall, report to treatment room three. Nurse McCall. . ."

Dix smiled at the two paramedics. "Oops – gotta run, Johnny. I'll catch you later, okay?" Roy could have sworn he saw a glint of relief in the ER nurse's eyes as she left.

"C'mon, partner. Let's get back to the station so you can get out of those scrubs." Roy put on a show of sniffing the air and wrinkling up his nose. "And into a shower."

"Oh, ha-ha, Roy," the dark-haired firefighter grumbled, and preceded Roy out the doors of Rampart General. Roy grinned, knowing that sooner or later Johnny would get his smile back, marveling again at his partner's ability to bounce, and followed him out to the squad

ooOOoo

The ride back was quiet. Roy stole a look at Gage, wondering what was going on inside that shaggy head of his. Johnny's mouth twitched. It was coming out any minute, Roy decided.

"I just don't understand it, Roy." Gage held his hand out in appeal to his partner, then plopped it back into his lap in frustration.

Roy waited for more, and he continued to wait. He turned his head a couple of times to look at his friend, who had clammed up just as quickly as he had blurted out that last statement. Gage was for the moment looking out the side window, his chin propped on his hand, his thoughts obviously a million miles away.

"What don't you understand?" Roy asked. Johnny still stared out the window. Roy reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, causing the young man to jump in surprise.

"Huh? What?"

Roy sighed. "What is it you don't understand?"

"Oh. Yeah." Johnny twisted in the seat, facing his partner. "I don't understand why kids think they have to take some drug to make life better. Why do they feel they have to do that?"

Roy shot a look at his partner. "Maybe they think it's the only way to get through life," he replied, playing devil's advocate. He wanted to see where Johnny was going to take this.

"But if you go through life just to get through it. . ." Gage struggled for the right words. "You _miss_ it, Roy."

Roy turned the squad into the station driveway and backed in, ending their conversation for the time being. Gage headed for the locker room as Roy secured the vehicle and was in the shower by the time Roy came into the room to change his soiled uniform. Several short runs and a couple of days off delayed their taking the subject up at another time and, as John never brought it up again, he soon forgot about it.

ooOOoo

"Mm-mm-_mmm_" Gage stopped in the kitchen door of the DeSoto home and breathed in the smell of slow-cooked baked beans – Joanne's secret recipe – and found his mouth watering. "Joanne, you'd better let me take that along with me; I'll take _real_ good care of it." John reached for the steaming dish Joanne had set on the table.

Joanne reached out and playfully slapped his hands away. "None of that, John Gage. That dish goes along with the rest of the food - with _me_ You'll wait your turn with everyone else, and get your serving along with all the other food that'll be there. It'll be worth the wait, you'll see."

"It'll be cold," Gage muttered, not quite low enough for Joanne to miss. She smiled at her husband's partner and pointed to a box of condiments and utensils they were going to take along. "Make yourself useful and take that out to the car, will you? Roy!" she called out the back door.

"All right, just a sec!" came Roy's disembodied voice from the back yard. He soon came in, brushing grass clippings off his pants first, and greeted his friend and partner. Joanne disappeared out the front door with the food, the screen door slamming behind her. The kids could be heard calling to her from the front yard.

"I see she's put you to work, too," Roy grimaced, the twinkle in his eyes softening the complaint.

Gage leaned over and whispered conspiringly: "It's worth it." He continued in a louder voice as he picked up the box of condiments to carry out to the car, "You got all your gear?"

"Yeah, I put it in the back of your Land Rover while you were in the kitchen inhaling Joanne's beans."

Gage smirked a _'you are too funny for words.'_ "Go ahead and make fun. You'll wish you had some of those beans while we're eating trail mix tonight."

"Don't remind me," Roy said, chagrined. Somehow Johnny had talked him into taking a wilderness trail with him, where no fires were allowed, and where they ate only what they packed in. He knew he'd enjoy it, but right now a cold supper with no coffee didn't exactly appeal to him. He'd concentrate on the A-shift picnic, instead. They'd been looking forward to this for weeks, and he wasn't going to let anything spoil the day.

ooOOoo

"Hey, man, what d'you wanna go and waste all that good acid on blue shirts for?" drawled the beaded, bearded young man to his mirror image as they leaned against the fence of the park.

"It's my first batch, you idiot. _You_ wanna try it before you know what it'll do?" The second youth shoved a pill-shaped object at his companion, who shrank away, then shrugged.

"I'm not that stupid, Ronnie. You don't even know if you used the right ingredients, much less the right amounts."

"My old lady told me her friend used the recipe and it turned out fine. Why shouldn't mine be just as good?" Ronnie grinned stupidly, the marijuana taking effect in his system. "Hell, I even added some speed for an extra zap – and something else." He leaned over and nudged his pot-smoking friend. "Strychnine."

"You _what_? What'd you do that for? Man, that stuff'll kill ya!"

"Only in high doses."

"Well, how much is high?"

Ronnie ignored the question. "It's supposed to put a real edge on your trip, man. Make it zoom and crackle and flash!!" He soared his hands out like planes at each descriptive, looking like he would take off himself any minute.

"So, you wanna give the blue shirts a trip."

"Yeah, they live such mundane lives…"

"Mundane! Ronnie, they put out fires and rescue people, for Pete's sake!"

Ronnie scowled, his lower lip protruding into a massive pout. "They're still blue shirts. Them, and cops – they're all pigs!"

Ronnie's friend merely nodded, then resumed watching the people at the picnic across the park, under the trees. "So how are you goin' to give it to 'em?"

"Easy. It's a free park." Ronnie took two pills and crushed one in each hand. "We just walk through and, when no one's lookin'…"

"Trip time! I wish I was going to be there to see it!"

"Well, you can't!" leered Ronnie. "Unless you wanna do somethin' stupid like follow 'em."

"Not me!" said the companion, holding up both hands. "I don't want cops comin' after me 'cause I messed with some firemen's heads!"

Ronnie snorted, and walked toward the picnic, working the powder into a finer dust in his hands. His nameless buddy followed a few steps behind.

ooOOoo

John Gage picked up his plate off the table and eyed it suspiciously. There was inherent danger in leaving food out on a table under trees, even if one had to in order to pull a cold beer out of the cooler. It looked all right, so he juggled the full plate along with a napkin, plastic utensils, and the slippery can of beer as he made his way cautiously to the bull pen at the softball field nearby. Roy soon followed, managing his own lunch, having left it temporarily to tend to his daughter's stubbed toe (it seemed only Daddy the paramedic was qualified to attend to it).

"We're gettin' murdered," mumbled Gage around his food, having packed too much in, as usual.

"How many platefuls does this make?" quipped DeSoto, amazed at his friend's unquenchable appetite. The only time he had seen Johnny _not_ hungry, now that he thought about it, was on a boat.

Gage held up three fingers, then washed down a mouthful with a swallow of his beer. "But I hardly touched the second one because a bird baptized it."

"Johnny, you're up!" yelled Hank Stanley, erstwhile captain of the team.

"Watch my plate," Johnny called back as he went up to bat, eyeing Chet suspiciously.

Roy looked at Chet, who held up both hands, defending himself: "Hey, I ain't lookin' for leftovers," the Irishman explained, and resumed watching the game. Roy chewed and watched, too, as the first pitch turned out to be a foul ball. Johnny knocked his bat against his shoes like a pro.

"All he needs is a wad in his cheek," snickered Chet, as Gage got ready for the next pitch.

The other team's pitcher soared a flyer across the plate and Johnny's bat connected with a loud crack. The ball flew up, up and, to Roy's amazement and delight, over the fence! He jumped up, yelling, as did Chet, Marco and the others, their sudden movement toppling the bench – and Johnny's lunch – into the sand. Johnny took off around the bases as his teammates shouted and cheered him on, raising his arms in victory as he landed on home.

"Way to go, Johnny!" Roy pounded Gage's shoulder as he came back into the dugout, grinning widely.

"Whatta slam!" enthused Chet. Marco shook his hand, grinning his approval.

"Thanks guys," replied the happy paramedic, his eyes falling on the upended plate and beer, lying in the sand.

"Oh, uh… Sorry, Johnny," Roy apologized. "We got a little excited when you hit that home run."

Gage shrugged good-naturedly, the euphoria of the moment quenching his appetite. "That's okay, Roy. I'm not very hungry now, anyway."

"Fame gone to your head, Gage?"

"Shut up, Chet!"

Roy grinned and sat back down, finishing off his dinner before he had to go to bat. He didn't want the same thing to happen to _his_ food.

ooOOoo

The sun set lazily in an azure sky, sending long shadows over the hills in the distance. Roy and John stopped for a few moments on their ascent, watching the old star go down beyond the horizon before continuing on the ancient trail. Gage breathed deeply, soaking in the combined smells of balsam, pine, and just a hint of eucalyptus, then left the clearing, entering the woods with his partner. He smiled to himself, recalling the home run and the excitement of his friends as he crossed the plate. Just three hours ago, for a few brief moments, he had been the hero of the day. But right after that Chet had stepped in the spilled food and epithets followed, reducing Gage to Pigeon-status again. No matter. It had been a great day, and the rest of the weekend was going to be even better. He had found this trail last fall and was anxious to show it to Roy who, though grumpy when away from Joanne's cooking for too long, appreciated a good walk in a great setting.

Even now, Roy was looking up between the trees, gazing at the stars which appeared as daylight fled. John moved beside him, also admiring the view. Roy glanced at him, then back at the stars. John followed his friend's gaze; no words were necessary. They continued on.

ooOOoo

Roy sat across from Johnny, amazed at how clearly he could see his partner in the starlight. There was no moon that night, but without a campfire, his eyes had adjusted so well he could make out the other paramedic's features quite plainly, and had told him so. They sat in companionable silence, having eaten some trail mix after they had set up their simple camp. At least, Johnny had eaten. Roy was surprised he didn't have much appetite after that long walk, but it was probably because he had eaten such a large – and very delicious – lunch. He had kidded Johnny about eating three platefuls, but he knew in reality John's first plate of food had gotten cold when he was distracted by Chris and Jen and their new Frisbee. Joanne had carefully fixed another plate for him, but one of the local birds decided to use it as an outhouse, Johnny having gotten only one or two bites from it, and the third – well, that's baseball – you win some, you lose some. Roy, on the other hand, was embarrassed at the amount of food he had consumed. Must have been the exercise and being outdoors, or something.

Gage sat with his eyes closed, sorting out the various scents of the night, listening to the small sounds of night creatures as they stirred in the undercover of the woods. His stomach grumbled loudly and his partner chuckled.

"I heard that," Roy said.

"I ate too fast."

"So what else is new?"

"Aw, Roy, I was hungry. I didn't have hardly anything to eat today," Gage protested mildly, too comfortable and content to put up much argument.

"Like I said, what else is new?"

Johnny glared in mock anger at his friend. "Oh, right, Roy, like you didn't pack it away today at the picnic."

"Only one plateful," Roy protested.

"Yeah, but what a plateful!" countered Gage, warming up. It wasn't the norm for him to have Roy on the run, but on the rare occasion he did, John made the most of the situation.

"Well, we had to wait so darn long before they served…" Roy's voice faltered and stopped in mid-sentence. Johnny squinted to see his face. Roy was looking past the campsite, out into the woods. Johnny turned quickly, half-expecting to see a raccoon or worse, a bear, but there was nothing there. He look back at his friend. "Roy?"

Roy had enjoyed this evening – everything about it. The slow-paced walk, the absence of cars, buses and other man-made noises; the relative silence of his comrade-in-arms; their mutual appreciation of the beauty around them. Usually all this would have served to relax him, but for over an hour he had found himself tensing up, his heart racing, as if the klaxons had gone off in the middle of the night and they were dashing for the squad. Taking deep breaths didn't help much; in fact, it had gotten progressively worse as the night deepened. Must have been something he ate today, maybe something that had sat out in the sun too long…

He had carried on conversation with Johnny, trying to ignore the growing restlessness in his body, unable to bring himself to eat the trail mix Gage had shared with him. His unusually sharp night-vision became more acute, the lines of the tree trunks and pin-points of the stars almost painful in their clarity. As time went on, he began to notice things in his peripheral sight, as if there were something lurking in the shade of the deep woods. Just now he thought he saw furtive movement of some kind behind his partner, shimmering like water in fleeting moonlight. As he stared and blinked, however, it disappeared.

"Roy!"

"Huh?"

"Man, where were you for a minute?"

"Oh, I… I, uh…thought I saw something."

Gage grinned, looking back over his shoulder. "Yeah, well, I thought you saw something, too. Don't scare me like that, okay?"

Roy yawned widely. "I think I'm gonna turn in, Johnny."

"I am too, in a little while." Gage leaned back against his backpack, clasping his hands behind his head and looking up at the star-peppered sky.

Both men were quiet as the night crept by.

ooOOoo

Roy tossed and turned in his bedroll, the unease he felt gradually tightening into a ball of pain in his gut. He sat up, throwing back the blanket, and rose to his knees, trying to ease the ache he felt in his midsection. The sudden movement caused a wave of dizziness; putting out a hand to steady himself, he noticed the fabric of the blanket felt weird to the touch. In the strange starlight, he detected movement again, only this time, it was the blanket, squirming suddenly under his fingers…

He jerked his hand back and gave an involuntary grunt of surprise. John sat up in his blankets.

"Roy? What is it?"

"Nami – mnan," slurred DeSoto, pointing at the blanket. He was shocked at his abrupt inability to say a simple word like _animal_.

Gage came over and rifled through his partner's bedroll, finding nothing.

"It was probably a mouse, Roy," he soothed, surprised at the alarm on his friend's face. Roy had never been particularly afraid of little woodland creatures on previous trips, but something had certainly upset him now, John surmised, watching his friend. Roy remained motionless, rocked back on his heels, looking at his upturned palm, the fingers splayed…

As Roy watched, fascinated, his fingers and hand began to undulate, like a reflection in a rippled lake. The earth started to rock beneath him, and the landscape turned purple. He felt his heart tumbling wildly in his breast, like a wounded bird. Somewhere in the background, he could hear Johnny calling his name, but it was drowning in a dull roar that was building toward an uncanny crescendo, crashing in his head like cymbals.

Roy clapped his hands over his ears and whimpered, childlike, his eyes tightly shut. Gage, thoroughly alarmed now, put a hand out…

Razor-sharp talons ripped into Roy's shoulder. He couldn't draw breath fast enough or deep enough to scream – he could only moan with pain. The talons gripped tighter, their bite going deeper. Opening his eyes, Roy stared at them buried deep in the muscles of his shoulder, traced them back to the appendage that merged sickeningly into his partner's arm. Just beyond that was Gage's face, and as he stared into the paramedic's eyes, they morphed into black, fathomless maws and swallowed him whole. It was only then that he found breath enough to scream.

John felt Roy jerk beneath his touch, saw pain written on his friend's face. Shocked at this sudden development, he tightened his grip. Roy gasped in apparent agony and opened his eyes, taking in John's hand and arm and focusing finally on his face. Roy's eyes widened in terror, he opened his mouth…

And screamed.

"Roy, stop it!"

Roy had scrambled back, away from his partner, and risen to his feet, swaying drunkenly, staggering, looking around in horror. His breaths were drawn in awful, wrenching wheezes, almost sobs, as he looked for an escape that was not there. His world had exploded into bizarre colors and sounds, senses which did not correlate with anything remotely familiar to him. The touch of his feet on the ground brought the perception of intense, pulsing light splashing across his vision. Movement of any kind in his body instigated loud, disembodied screams in his hearing. Whenever he tried to focus his sight on something, a foul, noisome odor permeated his mind. His skin crawled; his head felt like large worms were writhing in his skull… Roy's neurological system was completely and totally overwhelmed. All of his sensory input was cross-wired, and his brain was incapable of handling it.

John saw what was happening, at last. It really only took a few seconds for him to see that Roy was on some kind of awful trip, but it had seemed like hours. He had to subdue his friend somehow, before he ran headlong into a tree or off the precipice only a few hundred yards away from their camp. He stood slowly, noting the immediate defensive reaction in Roy, gauging the situation.

Roy saw a creature rise from the dirt, pinning its demonic eyes on him, picking him out for prey. He could hear its breath rising in its throat, a feral growl sending a warning of imminent attack. Somewhere in his tortured thoughts, Roy knew he had to get away. He turned and fled with the adrenaline-fueled flight of a gazelle.

Straight toward the ravine.

Johnny bolted after him, running quietly, not calling out, knowing this would only increase Roy's panic. He went down once, tripping over something, he didn't know or care what. He was up again immediately, running as if his life depended on it – as if Roy's life depended on it. If Roy went over that precipice…

Johnny's own adrenal system kicked in and he felt himself picking up speed, closing at last on his fleeing partner. The ravine loomed just ahead. He planted his foot on a rock that Roy had skirted and vaulted himself over it, landing upon Roy in a flying tackle. They both tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over. Gage felt a bone in his wrist give way, but there was no pain.

He lay there a moment before realizing DeSoto lay under him, unmoving. The sound of gravel and small rocks bouncing off larger ones as they fell over the precipice bore stark testimony of just how close Roy had come to going over himself. Not to mention his partner.

Gage moved as carefully as he could, awkward with the broken wrist which still didn't hurt, but was swelling rapidly. He knelt at Roy's side, training coming to bear now, and ran his good hand over his friend's limbs, neck and sternum, feeling for breaks. Except for a few abrasions, Roy had seemingly suffered less damage from the tackle than the other paramedic. No sign of a head injury, thank God. There still could be head trauma, but Gage wasn't in much of a position to assess that considering the drug-induced state Roy was in.

The dark-haired man's handsome face settled into a scowl. When Roy woke up, how was he going to handle him, one-armed as he was now? Gingerly, he moved behind his partner and slipped his elbows under Roy's arms, placing his good arm across his friend's chest. Lifting from the knees, he straightened up and backed toward the camp, watching for fallen limbs and rocks which could provoke a fall. After what seemed like an eternity and panting with the exertion, he reached the camp and maneuvered Roy back onto his blankets. Roy began to stir and moan softly, his eyes moving erratically under the lids, his hands twitching. Knowing he had to work fast, Gage rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a nature magazine and a bandana. Placing the damaged wrist on his lap, he braced his hand with his knees and wrapped the magazine around the wrist, letting it extend down to his first knuckles. He secured it as tightly as he could with the bandana, using his teeth when necessary. Though now painful, he was able to flex his fingers, and he nodded in satisfaction that he had good circulation.

The night was suddenly pierced with a wail that, if Johnny hadn't known it came from his friend, he would have sworn spewed out of some creature from one of Chet's favorite horror films.

Roy was throwing the covers off again, grappling with them like they were something alive. His face was contorted with panic and horror, and he threw the blankets from him only to grasp them back again. Johnny stared for a moment in unbelief at what he was seeing in his normally quiet, pragmatic, unflappable partner before shaking himself mentally. He must gain the upper hand with Roy, and immediately, before he hurt himself.

Gage moved back to the outer perimeter of the camp, hoping the darkness would allow him to get behind Roy without his being seen. There was a macabre fascination in watching what in older days would have been called a possession of evil spirits. This was Roy's body, but the person occupying it was _not_ Roy, at least not a Roy who could respond the way he normally would. _Does Roy know what's happening to him? _Gage wondered. _ Somewhere in all that jumble in his mind, does he know?_

Roy was standing now, though still off-balance, as if he were walking the decks of a tall ship on the open seas, jerking his head from side to side and raising his arms as if to ward off an unseen assailant. Whimpers and moans intermixed as Roy battled with the attacks of his own senses.

_Now's my chance,_ Gage realized, knowing he'd better make his move while Roy's back was to him. He decided against the careful approach, recognizing that Roy's sense of hearing was probably heightened, and made a dash at his friend, trying to reach him before he could turn around.

He almost made it.

Roy pivoted at the last moment, following through with a round-house that caught Johnny up against the side of his head, leaving him sitting awkwardly on the ground, his ears ringing. Looking up, he saw that the blond paramedic was tensing for an attack. He tasted blood, spat it out, and flung himself at Roy again, aiming for the knees. They both went down.

DeSoto fought like fury itself, hitting, clawing, pinching, and suddenly Gage found his upper arm caught in the ferocious grip of human teeth. Yelling in pain, the paramedic reacted in self-defense and plowed his fist into his friend's face, sending Roy sprawling, blood welling from a split lip.

Roy grew unexpectedly quiet and still. He crouched silently on all fours, poised as if to spring, the whites of his eyes glinting in the starlight. John could hear him breathing – too fast – and wondered in detachment what his friend's heart rate was at that moment…

Then Roy leaped on him - and for the first time since he'd known him, Johnny was afraid of Roy DeSoto.


	2. Chapter 2

Gage felt the inhuman strength in his friend, but more than that he felt the purpose of a deranged mind, the absolute bent to destroy the enemy. And _he_ was the enemy. He felt Roy's hands close around his throat, the greater weight of the paramedic's body pinning him to the ground, and he began to experience the tell-tale signs of imminent unconsciousness.

"Roy, " he croaked, feeling like his trachea was going to implode. "Roy," he tried again, "don't… don't."

Roy didn't let go; if anything, his grip tightened. Suddenly, in the midst of passing out, Gage experienced a moment of crystal clarity in his thoughts. There _had_ to be a way to get through to his friend.

Desperately, his voice gone, his wind almost cut off, he gasped out the one word that had sprung to his mind, a word Roy might understand amid the turmoil of his thoughts – a simple word that held every facet of their relationship over the years...

"P- pally," Gage managed, and waited for oblivion.

It didn't come.

He felt Roy's hands relax around his throat and drew a desperate, ragged breath. As his vision cleared a little, he could see the perplexed look on his friend's face. Roy rocked back on his knees, staring at his shaking hands, then glanced back at Johnny. Gage saw recognition in his partner's eyes - tinged with horror and lingering mania.

"My God," breathed Roy, and flung himself away as if Gage's body were a brand of fire. He fell to his knees again, the adrenaline subsiding quickly, leaving his racked body shivering in the night air. There was still movement in the darkness around him; the ground still crawled beneath his hands and knees, but he began to comprehend what it was, why it was happening…

He looked at Gage again, who had only just found the strength to prop up on his good arm, coughing hard.

"My God," he repeated, his breathing erratic and labored. He glanced wildly around, then looked down at his hands again, turning them over and back once more. Slowly, he raised his eyes to look at Gage, his gaze fully cognizant now, then he lowered his head to the ground and fell over on his side.

Gage watched his friend - who just a minute ago had been a towering inferno - turn into a scared little boy, incapacitated by grief and fright and lingering phobia. He watched his partner draw into himself, clutching his head in his hands, moaning as if his heart would fly out of him.

"Roy," John called softly, unsure if the sound of his voice would send Roy into another manic tantrum. He struggled to his knees, not attempting to stand, and crawled over to his friend.

"Roy," he repeated, tentatively touching his friend's shoulder, "it's okay, man." He coughed again, his abused trachea protesting. Roy didn't respond, but remained curled on the ground, quiet now, but twitching and shivering as if he were in the last weak throes of a _grand mal_ seizure. Compassion flooded Gage's features and he gathered Roy into his arms. His throat was so sore he couldn't say anything more to his partner; all he could do was try to convey his concern by holding on to his friend as tight as his broken wrist would allow.

"Jo – Johnny?" Gage started at the sound of DeSoto's voice, hoarse from his ordeal, but lucid – Roy's own voice.

"Yeah, Roy. I'm right here."

"Lemme go," the blonde-haired fireman mumbled. "Gonna be sick… "

Instinctively, Gage rolled DeSoto away from him, facing the ground, and kept a hand on his back while he emptied his stomach. The vomiting turned to dry heaves and still Roy retched, almost convulsing with the spasms. Finally it eased a bit, and Gage produced a clean sock dipped in water to wash his friend's face. He held the water bottle to his lips; Roy rinsed out his mouth and spat, but couldn't swallow. He was shaking like it was zero degrees and falling, and doubled up with the pain in his gut.

"Stomach… hurts. S-sick, Johnny."

"I know, I know. You're gonna be all right; you'll get through this, Roy. Must have been something in the drug." Gage swore silently. _'If I ever find out who did this…'_ He was holding his partner again, trying to ease the trembling, feeling totally helpless in the circumstances in which he found himself. There was no way he could leave Roy in the condition he was in. He could only hope that the ill-effects of the vomiting wouldn't dehydrate his friend past the point of recovery.

Roy threw up several more times that night. Desperately, Johnny tried to force him to take some water, but it came right back up. _'Has to be poison_, Gage reasoned. Stories abounded among the paramedics about kids making up their own concoctions and lacing them with rat poison to get a better buzz, and winding up half-dead in the ER. These people had survived – at least most of them – because they had received emergency treatment, a luxury his best friend wasn't afforded.

Gradually, as day began to show faint light across the horizon, DeSoto showed signs of improvement. Gage gave him a sip of water and he kept it down. Encouraged, he urged him to drink still more, and that stayed down, too. Eventually, as the sun peeked over the hill in the distance, Roy fell into the deep sleep of the exhausted, his face now flushed with fever.

Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Gage lay Roy down on the ground and contrived a pillow from a blanket, covering him with another one. He didn't think Roy cared too much about creature comforts right now, but he needed to stay warm. Standing over his friend, stretching out the kinks, he noted the dark circles under Roy's eyes; the hands, nails torn; his body trembling occasionally; the still too rapid respirations, even in sleep. How close had his partner come to death last night? How many times in their history together had they both drawn so near death they could smell it?

He arched his back, hissing in pain as he carelessly bumped the damaged wrist against his hip, noticing for the first time the scratches and bruises on his arms, wondering how many more there were he couldn't see. The sharp stinging on his upper arm told him the bite was pretty deep and more than likely full of bacteria. Human bites were the worst…

Roy groaned and shifted in his sleep, the blanket slipping a little. John knelt next to his friend and rearranged the cover, leaving his fingers against the beat in his partner's neck a few seconds. _Pulse around 110,_ he noted. Not too bad considering the chemicals his body was still trying to purge from its system. Just breathing wasn't too shabby at this juncture, Gage realized. He grinned in spite of himself.

Standing again, the paramedic grabbed the water bottle and headed for a nearby stream to replenish it. He'd better try cleaning that bite, too. He knew that it would be several hours before Roy woke up, and neither of them were going to feel like hiking back down the mountain this day. Maybe he could get his friend to eat a little trail mix later on.

The day passed slowly. Roy never moved, but John slept fitfully, the battering he had received the night before reminding him in ways he would rather ignore, but couldn't. He drank plenty of water and ate a little, but he could feel the slow burn of infection in his arm and knew he would feel worse before he felt better. Tomorrow, no matter what, they had to start back down. By then they would be missed, and someone would come looking for them. The way he was feeling, he didn't think he would be able to drive them home tomorrow. Thank God Joanne knew where they were!

ooOOoo

Roy felt something touch his face, feather-soft, dream-like, and pulled the blanket up over his mouth. He knew it was time to wake up, but he didn't want to bring himself to do it just yet. He felt it again, and couldn't resist a look. His right eye closed, he opened the left one just a fraction, and between a curtain of eyelashes beheld a chipmunk nosing around. As he watched, its whiskers brushed against his cheek. He laughed silently, causing just enough movement to scare the chipmunk away, and bringing him to full wakefulness.

And pain.

He carefully stretched out full length under the blanket, surprised to feel dirt and gravel beneath him, feeling every muscle in his body complaining of the movement. Carefully, he raised his head up and glanced around. His partner lay a few feet away, apparently asleep.

Roy sat up, dizziness wrapping itself around him like wet cotton, and leaned back against his hands, shaking his head to try to clear it. The vertigo that action produced made him lie back down abruptly, a small groan escaping him.

"Roy?" he heard his partner call, and immediately Gage was by his side. He opened one eye again, squinting against the bright sunshine, and gazed up at the other paramedic.

"Faker," he rasped. Gage looked a question at him; DeSoto closed his eyes, then reopened them. Then Gage understood - years of silent communication forged around SCBA gear, roaring fires and shouting men made it easy for him to understand the soundless message.

"Oh, no, I really was asleep. I've been dozing off and on all day, waitin' on you, partner." Gage flashed a lopsided grin in assurance, but Roy wasn't buying it.

"Now you're a…a liar," Roy managed, then coughed weakly. Gage's mobile face settled into a frown.

"Let me get you some water, Roy."

DeSoto watched his friend stand, slowly and awkwardly, and noticed for the first time that Gage's left wrist was bound up crudely. John walked with the gait of an old man; his shirt was smudged with dirt, his elbows raw, and the knee in one leg of his jeans was torn. Slowly, as he watched his friend get the water and make his way back, DeSoto comprehended the extent of the dementia the drug had produced. His eyes widened as the full implications hit him.

"Oh no," he said, unconsciously repeating the words of hours earlier. "Johnny, what happened? What did I do?"

Gage shook his head in dismissal, offering the water, but Roy pushed it away. He sat up again, more slowly this time, and leaned back on his elbows, finding for the first time a few scrapes of his own. Looking closer at his friend, he saw bruises on Johnny's throat, more abrasions on his friend's arms and hands, and the dried blood on the hem of Gage's left shirt sleeve. "Johnny," he rasped. "Did I do that?"

"Nah," Gage parried, attempting to put on a brash front. "I did it to myself, Roy, chasing after you. You should get a look at yourself. Boy, did you get _sacked_." Gage grinned too heartily, trying to put away the memory of the death-fall that had waited just feet away.

Roy ran his tongue over his swollen lower lip. "Looks like I got kayoed, anyway." He studied Gage's face for a moment. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Gage dropped the fake smile and crouched down beside his partner. "Look, Roy, what's the point? Obviously you were drugged, probably at the picnic. How could you know someone had done that to you?" Gage looked up suddenly, in panic. "Man, what if some of the guys got into that stuff? What if…" He stopped abruptly, seeing his own fear mirrored in his friend's face.

"Joanne. The kids…"

"No, wait, now, Roy. Wait a minute!" Gage ran his good hand through his already shaggy mane. "Look, if something had happened to Joanne, to Jen or Chris, they'd have sent someone to get you right away, don't you think?"

Roy thought a moment, finding it hard to do so through the pounding headache he was nursing, but still realizing that what Gage said was true. There was no way anyone would let him stay up there in the mountains if his family had been hurt. He nodded slowly. "Maybe you're right, Johnny. What about the guys, though?"

That was another issue, Gage realized. He knew that if he had been sick or hurt back at 51's, he wouldn't have wanted someone telling a crew member on holiday and ruining a perfectly good vacation. Maybe it was what some would call a 'macho' thing, but that was the way of it. He longed to get back to town, to make sure everyone was all right, but knew that would have to wait. Right now he had to get some food into his partner, and they had to spend yet another night in the woods, without a fire, and with precious little to eat. At least there was plenty of water, thanks to the stream.

"Roy, I want you to eat something."

His partner made a face that poignantly reminded Gage of Chris DeSoto staring down a plate of turnip greens. "I'd rather not."

"You've gotta eat something, Roy, or you're not going to have the strength to go down the mountain tomorrow." Gage produced the bag of trail mix, and Roy's expression changed from distaste to downright distress. "Look," he wheedled, "I just want you to eat a few of these raisins, okay? Not the nuts and other stuff. Just the raisins." Again the parent/child effect struck him, but he kept it to himself.

Roy swallowed hard and picked three raisins from the trail mix bag. He ate them, one at a time, chewing slowly, watching Gage all the while as if to say, '_if this stuff makes me throw up again I'm gonna do it all over your shoes.' _Johnny noticed his friend's shaking hand as he ate and the unhealthy flush on his cheeks, and laid the back of his hand to Roy's forehead.

Roy pulled away from the touch, although Gage's cooler hand felt good for that brief moment of contact. "I'm all right," he said, but without much conviction. He glanced sideways at his friend, who eyed him with amusement.

"Uh-huh. Where've I heard _that_ before, I wonder?" Johnny quipped, popping a little trail mix into his mouth. He sat down next to Roy and shoved a few more raisins at the paramedic, who ate them grudgingly. They sat for awhile in silence, Roy having graduated to a cross-legged position, propping himself with one hand. He watched Johnny eat, noting that the fingers of Johnny's left hand were swollen to twice their normal size. Quietly, he reached over and took his friend's hand in his, examining the nail beds. Johnny, who couldn't pull back for fear of hurting the wrist, quietly submitted to the scrutiny.

Roy gently pressed the arm just above the makeshift splint. "You have any pain there?"

"Nope. Just a simple break."

"Wiggle your fingers for me."

Gage suppressed a grin and then a grimace as he obeyed his partner. Roy nodded, satisfied, and released Gage's hand. "You need ice on that."

"Why don't you order us up some, Roy?" parried the dark-haired paramedic, not a little irritated, waving his injured arm which, thanks to his own heroics and Roy's mania, was one big lump of pain. This whole trip had become a fiasco, thanks to a stupid, mean-spirited prank played by someone who could only have spaghetti for brains. He scowled at the ground for some moments, gradually becoming aware of Roy's silence. He looked up at his friend and saw that Roy was fighting for control: he stared hard at the forest line, his jaw clenched tightly against the emotions that were barely held at bay.

"Hey, Roy, I didn't mean anything by that! You don't have to…"

Roy glanced briefly at Johnny, coughed slightly and looked down at the ground, rubbing his forehead distractedly. "It's not that…" he stopped, not trusting his voice yet.

"The hell it isn't!" Gage exclaimed. "Sometimes I think my timing is as bad as Chet's. Look, it's not your fault any of this happened." He reached over with a fist and gently punched his partner's shoulder. "You got that?"

Roy made eye contact. "Yeah, I got it, but…"

"But what?"

"Johnny, how could I have so _totally_ lost control like that?"

"You think that somehow you should have been able to master this thing?" Johnny took a drink of water and passed the bottle to Roy, who also drank, then shook his head.

"I know, logically, there's no way I could have. But learning about mania and its manifestations is one thing. Living through it is a totally different ball game. All this stuff was happening and all I could do was react, and the more I reacted, the worse it got."

"Do you remember much?"

"Only feelings, images. Nothing specific, except that I was terrified."

"I'd call that a normal emotion, under the circumstances. Your brain was taxed to the limit and your body followed suit. Probably the only sanity you had at the time was your fear. You _knew_ something was wrong."

"Yeah." Roy rubbed his temples, sighing heavily. "When did you?"

"I didn't catch the early signs - you seeing things in the woods, adapting to the dark so quickly." Roy was watching him intently, and Gage realized he would never be able to bring himself to tell his partner exactly what happened. If he did, Roy would never forgive himself. He was having enough trouble as it was looking at Johnny's injuries and knowing that he was responsible.

Gage pushed himself to his feet. "I'm going to the stream to get some more water. You'll be okay until I get back?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Roy replied, then changed his mind. "No, wait. Let me come with you."

"You don't need to do that. I can get…"

"I'm coming. Help me up."

Gage knew that tone. Once Roy had made up his mind, it stayed made up. He stood over his friend and offered his good hand. Roy grabbed it and pulled to his feet, swaying a bit as John steadied him. "Okay. Let's go."

Johnny let Roy precede him so he could catch him if he fell as they made the short trip to the stream. Roy was making fairly good progress, stumbling only once or twice, and made it to their destination on his own two feet without any assistance from his partner.

They knelt by the brook, bending over to take long, cooling gulps of the clean liquid. Roy dipped his aching head into the iciness of the swift-moving water and sat back on his haunches, letting it drip down his face and neck. He glanced over at Gage, who was filling the water bottle, and noted again the blood-stained shirt sleeve. Reaching over, he pulled the sleeve up before Gage realized what he was doing and saw the teeth marks, the angry red and swollen skin around the wound…

Johnny swore under his breath and pulled away. DeSoto still maintained his grip on the sleeve, and the sudden tightening against the wound made Gage's world go grey.

"I've got you. Put your head between your knees for a minute." Gage heard his friend's voice as if from far away, the stream noise very loud suddenly. As the roaring gradually receded, however, he realized the sound had been in his head, not from the stream. He opened his eyes carefully, blinking against the late afternoon sunlight. He was propped up against Roy, leaning over his bent knees, his heart hammering but starting to settle a bit. "You okay?" he heard his partner ask, and felt the sleeve being lifted again. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Johnny. Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

Gage's strength was coming back, slowly. "You had enough to think about already." He flinched as Roy palpated the area.

"This should have been tended to."

"I did, as best I could. I washed it, disinfected it with the ointment in the first aid kit. Couldn't bandage it very well, though, one-handed. The sleeve kept the dirt out…"

Roy shot him a 'y_ou can do better than that'_ look. Gage shrugged. "…sorta."

Roy knew Johnny had done the best he could under the circumstances. They weren't authorized to carry 51's equipment with them on hiking trips, at least the last time he had checked, and they was no way they could have foreseen or treated the drug-induced illness he had experienced. It was just the luck of the draw. '_Still, if I hadn't been such a pig at the picnic…'_

Gage saw the muscle in his partner's jaw working, saw the look in his eye. "You blaming yourself again? Didn't we already settle that argument?" He brought his knees under him, then stood carefully. "C'mon, partner." Once again, Roy accepted the outstretched hand, and together they walked back to camp.

ooOOoo

Johnny stirred feverishly, his legs moving restlessly under his blanket. He dreamed of hot, sunshine-filled parks. He dreamed of baseball bats, of hotdogs and beer, and of voices in the bull pen, calling his name, and Roy's…

His fever-dampened mind informed him that a hand rested on his shoulder, shaking him gently. He didn't care; he only wanted to dream, to dream and float away in the heat waves rising off the pavement of the tennis courts, to fade away…

"John. John Gage, wake up."

He looked up into the face he didn't recognize, which wavered above him like the dream he was having. He shook his head slowly at the unknown paramedic and closed his eyes, releasing himself to oblivion…

ooOOoo

Roy lay in the hospital bed, fully awake. Even though his eyes were closed, he knew he shared his partner's room, judging by the bedside discussions and instructions he had overheard. The room was fairly quiet, at least when the nurse wasn't in it - there were no heart monitors beeping, no _snap-hiss_ of a respirator - just the normal sounds of people passing in the hallway, of doctors being paged. Rolling to his side, he glanced through the rails of his bed to take a look at the other bed's occupant. Johnny lay quietly, looking as if he were asleep, his color pretty good. His left wrist had a new cast on it and there was a fresh, white bandage on his upper arm. An IV snaked its way into Gage's right hand, which rested on his stomach. There was a band-aid on his left elbow and Roy guessed there was probably one on the right elbow, as well.

Satisfied as to his friend's condition, Roy rolled onto his back again, taking note of his own IV. Three of his fingers sported band-aids and his palms were covered in abrasions. His own elbows, though scratched, didn't require a bandage of any kind. _'As usual, Johnny got the worst of it'_, he thought darkly.

Someone was at the door, and Roy closed his eyes to feign sleep. He heard footsteps go first to Gage's bed - someone must have been reading his chart - and then come over to his bedside. A hand rested on his shoulder.

"Come on, Roy, I know you're awake. Open those baby blues."

The blond paramedic opened his eyes and stared into the face of Dixie McCall, who smiled at him. "Hi, Dix."

"Hi, yourself. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

"Mm-hm. I didn't ask you if you were fine. I asked you how you were feeling." She went to the foot of the bed and read his chart. Her question unanswered, she looked back up, locking eyes with DeSoto. "I'm waiting."

"I don't feel too bad, Dix. Just some bruises and scrapes. I don't see the need for me to be…"

"Oh you don't, _Doctor_ Desoto?" McCall countered, frowning. She came back up the head of the bed, resting her arms on the rail. "Do you know what kind of trip you were on?"

"Some kind of hallucinogen, I guess. Probably homemade. I got kind of sick…"

"Roy," Dix interjected, reaching forward to brush a lock of hair off the paramedic's forehead, "you were _very_ sick. We found not only traces of lysergic acid and methamphetamine in your blood, but also strychnine."

"Rat poison?" Roy's eyes widened. McCall nodded affirmation. "Are there…" Roy grabbed a fistful of sheet. "I'm trying to remember, but I can't…" Roy glanced away, then back at the head nurse. "Dix, strychnine - I can't remember! Shouldn't I be dead?"

"If the dosage had been large enough. Fortunately, it wasn't. But it was enough to do plenty of damage anyway." Roy was looking at the ceiling, still strangling the sheet with his fist. "Hey," Dix called him, softly, placing her hand on his chest. The fireman slowly dragged his eyes back to hers. "Don't worry about the memory lapse. It's normal with LSD victims, and the symptoms will subside if you aren't exposed to any more of it. Our main worry was your fever and dehydration caused by the strychnine. If Johnny hadn't been there to force you to take liquids, you might not have made it."

"Johnny's all right, isn't he?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm just peachy, Roy," came a disembodied voice from behind Dixie's back. She turned, allowing Roy to see for himself.

Gage had twisted sideways as much as his cast and bandage would allow and was grinning through the rails at his partner. "I've just been waiting for you to wake up."

Roy countered, "Yeah, and you're still a faker."

"Looks like you've been taking lessons from Johnny," Dix reprimanded. "I'll leave you two alone. You're both going to be here for another day, at least…"

"Aw, Dix…" whined Johnny, stopping when McCall held up her hand.

"At _least_," she warned. Gage sighed and plopped back on the pillow.

ooOOoo

Gage glanced over at his partner, who was concentrating on driving in heavy, rush-hour traffic. Their last run had been a rough one: two kids, neither of them over 14 years of age, who had overdosed. Both were comatose when they arrived on the scene; one had coded in the ambulance and, despite the efforts of Dr. Brackett and the staff, couldn't be brought back. The other one lay in the I.C.U. with possible brain damage, his name being withheld from reporters until the parents could be located. Roy hadn't said a word since Brackett had told them the first kid didn't make it, and gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles.

"You okay?" Gage asked.

Roy looked at his partner, started to nod, then slowly shook his head. "No." He cleared his throat, took an even tighter grip on the wheel. "I'm not."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Roy stole another glance at the other paramedic. "I, uh…" He cleared his throat again. "The kid who…who didn't make it. You notice anything about him?"

Johnny thought a minute, then shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I was too busy with the other one to really notice much, except that he was about the size of Chris." _'I thought he was small for his age'_, he thought, recalling Vince's remark about school records indicating the child was 14.

"Well, that's just it. He wasn't just Chris's size, Johnny. He looked enough like him to be his brother. His build, hair - the color of his eyes…" Roy stopped, swiped at his eyes with one hand.

They stopped at a red light. The two firemen stared straight ahead, both thinking the same thoughts. Roy's voice in the relative quiet of the squad made Johnny jump. "Do you remember that run we had at the rock concert? You know, the one where you had to hold the kid down?"

Gage nodded, recalling more than just having to hold him down. "I remember."

"Do you remember what you said on the way back to 51s? About how if you go through life just to get through it, you miss it?"

"Yeah."

"What did you mean by that, exactly?"

"Just that there's so much more to life than merely wanting to feel good, or to escape for awhile. I was thinking that people who turned to drugs for those reasons didn't know what life really _means_."

"What does it mean, Johnny? To you?"

"Oh…I don't know. I guess maybe life means those things we take for granted until we lose them. Things like our health, our ability to make a living, family…" He turned sideways on the seat a little, looking at his partner. "Friends."

DeSoto shot him a glance before returning his eyes to the road. They were nearing the station, only a block away, and he had to say this before they got there. "Johnny, I…" he struggled with the right words to say - his own male reticence to bare his heart - as he slowed the squad and backed into the station.

"It's those things that _are_ my life, pally - my family and my friends." He cut off the engine and removed the keys from the ignition. Gage reached for the door handle, felt a hand on his arm, stopping him. He look into the blue eyes of his partner.

"Johnny. You're my partner, you're my friend…" DeSoto shook Gage's arm a little. "And you're family."

ooOOoo

"What's with Gage?" Chet whispered to Roy, who sat on the couch with Henry in his lap. Gage could be heard in the latrine, finishing up what had to be the most hated chore in the entire station, whistling some god-awful out-of-tune melody. "I thought you just got back from a bad run!"

"Yeah, we did," Roy answered solemnly.

"I don't get it, " Chet shook his head. He left the kitchen and could soon be heard trying to get a rise out of Gage, who good-naturedly gave Chet back everything he shot at him.

Roy looked down at the sleeping dog and rubbed his ears. "Well, _we_ got it," he murmured, smiling to himself. "Didn't we, pally?"

End

**Notes from the author** Clinically, records indicate that LSD begins to take effect within 30-90 minutes of ingestion, but I have based my story on the one time - and the only time, for obvious reasons - I took the stuff (many years ago). Just like in the story, it was homemade and was laced with speed and rat poison. My buddy and I took it around 6:00 p.m. and never felt the first effects (except for heightened senses of sight and hearing) until 3 hours later. Between the two of us, every symptom I have described in my story was experienced. Weirdly, I remembered everything but my friend didn't. For Roy's sake, I decided I didn't want him to remember, either. I never tried any kind of drug after that, but my buddy went on to try everything and, for many years, led a wasted life. I'm happy to say that now she is married and has a family, and has finally gotten down to _living_.


End file.
